


riddle me this

by megamegaturtle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Fluff, Lawyer Draco Malfoy, Lawyer Hermione Granger, POV Hermione Granger, Pining Hermione Granger, Post-War, Riddles, Secret Admirer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamegaturtle/pseuds/megamegaturtle
Summary: Their fingers touch when Draco hands her the paper and Hermione's heart almost jumps out of her chest.The note reads: How do you spell ‘cute boy’ with only two letters? -Riddle Me ThisHermione finds herself grinning. “Cutie. Q-T. That’s the answer to the riddle. You’re a cutie, Malfoy.”[the one where someone leaves Draco Malfoy riddles to solve from the local coffee shop's community board and he enlists Hermione Granger for help.](Written for 2020 DFW Trope Fest: Double Trouble)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 64
Kudos: 274
Collections: DFW Tropes Fest: Double Trouble, The Dramione Collection





	riddle me this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeyJude19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyJude19/gifts).



> This is for the Dramione Fanfiction Writers Trope Fest: Double Trouble and I got coffee shop au and enemies to lovers! 
> 
> There was no way I could write a dramione coffee shop au and not dedicate it to heyjude19! So this this one's for you friend!

This story begins like most do: unplanned happenstance and stubborn destiny.

For example, it is by random chance that Hermione Granger is born a witch. Somewhere in all her genomes and DNA sequences, she’s a magical being born to ordinary parents. Magic thrives in her cells, sings in her blood, but nowhere in her lineage is anyone as remarkable. From eleven years old and onwards, she’s the brightest witch of her age. She’s somehow always exactly where she needs to be, her luck and knowledge at war to claim fame to her accolades.

However, nothing is unplanned about Draco Malfoy. Not his conception, not his existence. His story is a narrative generations long devised by pureblood witches and wizards. Draco’s mother decides his name when she is a child; his father has always known he’d have a son. He’s betrothed long before he can walk. His trajectory mirrors stars amongst the shadows. His parents want him to shine brighter than the moon and be better than the wizards before him.

In the past, chance, and fate run amok and cause chaos in their wake. A war happens between light and dark. Dumb luck throws wrenches at destiny, upsetting all of Draco’s future while solidifying Hermione’s. There are losses and victories, but, all of that is history. Practically meaningless now in the mundane everyday life in the post-war world. The world forgives the past for wayward children. Know-it-alls from all sides are now too busy to dwell on the could have beens, should have beens, when life continues as if the war were only but a blip.

This story now, the one that’s important, does not have such high stakes. No one is dying, and no one needs to be murdered. No, this story, this beginning, is just as unplanned and cockamamie as could be. The war is over between light and dark. The only battles now are matters of heart.

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are victims of fate having other plans. Mornings are scripted plays that both the patrons and the staff have seen before. Hermione Granger enters a wizarding coffee shop as the crowd of investors leave, only to be greeted by a smirking blond sitting in her seat.

It is Monday morning, and Draco Malfoy looks beyond cheery. It is hard to notice, of course, as he sneers, his mouth quirked at the corner. He lounges comfortably in a café armchair, the brown leather worn and regal as he sits by the crackling fire. His body engulfs the chair, long limbs stretched out as he waits patiently across the room. The tap of his foot in time with the second ticking on the clock. He’s dressed impeccably as always, a black suit with black shoes that gleam a bit too much to be natural.

Hermione hoists her heavy pocketbook on her shoulder and marches across the café. The barista briefly makes eye contact with her and has the gall to smile, as if this charade is adorable despite that it is so commonplace.

To others, she assumes it is, but to Hermione, she reminds herself to count to ten. She pulls out the dining chair opposite of her morning companion. She takes her time settling her bag in her lap before she looks at him. A blueberry scone and a chai latte with an extra shot of espresso wait for her, as is tradition. The spiced, sweet scent of the chai envelopes her in warmth, the nutmeg, and cinnamon her favorite part. 

“Malfoy, you’re in my seat. Again.” She admires the latte art this morning. It is a not too subtle heart. “You know that’s my preferred seat.”

“I know, Granger,” he drawls, each letter pronounced with annoying smugness.“And you know that is exactly why I sit here. This armchair is beyond comfortable.”

A man reading a muggle paper sitting at the table next to them snorts with laughter. It seems he has seen their morning routine, too.

A thick folder rests on the table, most likely notes for their upcoming case. Not that they are working together on said case. That would be too easy, she thinks. No, just like how they sit on the opposite sides of this small café table, they also operate on different sides of the courtroom.

Malfoy sips his morning espresso and enjoys a slice of chocolate cake. He thumbs through a note, his finger tracing his line of reading down the page. For a brief second, he genuinely smiles and caresses the edge of the paper with affection.

Hermione’s heartbeat quickens a tic, but she remains cool in her disposition. “Is that today’s riddle?”

Malfoy looks up and pushes the note towards her. She traces the neat script from the typewriter, noticing the faded ink on some vowels. 

_I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I’m sometimes the hardest to express, but the easiest to ignore. I can be given to many, or just one. What am I?_

“She’s going easy on me, I can tell. So, no, before you ask, I don’t need any help from you today,” Draco says. 

“So, what’s the answer then?”

Malfoy rolls his eyes and takes the note back. He traces it once more with that same tender affection. Hermione wonders what his gentle touch would feel like on her skin. His voice is soft, pleasant at the edges, all the roughness smoothed away. “Love.”

The note sparks with a clever charm, transforming itself into a paper dove before it flies away, escaping through a crack in the door. A trail of magic lingers in the air above the patrons of the shop. Pink and purple shimmering shadows map the bird’s flight. It is definitely one of the showiest charms they’ve seen from these coffee shop riddles.

An elderly woman reading a novel sighs the same way one does at romantic scenes. “That was her most beautiful one yet.”

Hermione sips her latte and silently agrees.

Malfoy clears his throat, his voice almost returning to his predictably bored tone with only a slight bite. “Though, I bet she meant you when she said it hurts to not have any love at all. Merlin knows you’re too much trouble for it.”

Hermione notices a bait when she sees one and does not take it. She leans forward, elbow on the table, knuckles digging into her cheek. “But at least I’m not the one who gets doe-eyed over a riddle a stranger leaves on a café community board.”

The glare she receives is worth it and she chuckles at Malfoy’s grimace.

“Drink your latte, Granger. You’re more insufferable when you don’t have caffeine. Besides, I need you in top shape this morning. We have a busy day ahead of us. And once I win my case, I plan on making you pay for the most expensive of lunches.”

“Fat chance, Malfoy. I’ve already seen you for coffee. No need to torture myself with lunch too.”

Before Malfoy replies, he glances at his watch. His eyes only widen for a fraction before he downs the rest of his espresso and last two bites of cake. Hermione relishes in the moments he’s less than perfect and he’s somewhat frazzled.

“Got to go, Ganger. Same time next week? Hopefully, she’ll make the riddle more complicated.”

Hermione laughs. “Didn’t you complain last week you wanted to solve them on your own?”

The scrape of his chair somehow isn’t rude when he stands. “You know I like a challenge,” he says. “But today should be a breeze. You’re going to wish you stayed home.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and waves him off. “See you in court, Malfoy.”

He grins, his mouth barely stopping itself from becoming a full smirk. “Remember, I’m going to win.”

“Goodbye, Malfoy!”

Hermione sips the rest of her chai for a few moments in peace after his departure, wondering to herself how to make next week’s riddle more challenging.

* * *

Like most things, the riddles begin like accidents from happy moments disguised as car crashes.

There’s nothing wrong with accidents, Hermione knows, because her parents often tell her she was their happiest of accidents. If you look at the Granger wedding album, there is a swell to her mother’s stomach—little Hermione Jean Granger always showing up a little too soon, a little too quick for the timing required.

Trolls in bathrooms, basilisks in hallways, turning back time to only jump forward again—Hermione Granger is no stranger to accidents and things happening by happenstance.

Her growing crush on Draco Malfoy feels like she just got T-boned in an intersection.

It sneaks up on her, finding herself falling for her old school enemy. They are rivals in the courtroom too, their cases often at odds. They speak a unique language through the legality of the law, their passion red hot and overflowing as they state their cases. Hermione uses brute force of logic and each technicality she can find, so detached from emotion as she drives in her every point. Malfoy slips his way between the letters of the law and rearranges what it says, his icy grey eyes melting into liquid steel.

The courtroom is where Hermione accidently falls for Draco Malfoy. The case they are arguing is unimportant to most people, but spurs passion in Malfoy she didn’t realize could exist. She falls for Draco Malfoy the moment he turns on his heel and addresses the jury in one last plea to grant his defendant rights to buy some property.

He looks best in navy, she learns in that moment, with his heart on his sleeve, his words picked with perfect poise as he speaks. “Witches and wizards of the jury, while I agree with Miss Granger that my client has an unsavory history because of his connections with the war, my client is not the same as the people who took part in the war. Yes, my client housed fugitive Snatcher relatives and was not honest to the DMLE about their whereabouts, but Mr. Rowle—who, as we recall, is only very distantly related to Death Eater Thornfinn Rowle on his father’s side—was only trying to help his family, Mr. Henry Smith and Mr. Thomas Smith on his mother’s side.” His voice is such an even cadence as Malfoy addresses the jury.

Like everyone else in the courtroom, Hermione leans forward, sitting on the edge of her seat.

“I understand the need to help family and do what you think is best for them,” he says with a deprecating smile, brittle and knowing too much. “That does not mean it is always the right thing to do in the eyes of the law. Family is all we have and they come first. My client knows he should have turned the Smith brothers into the DMLE. He has already paid his fine and completed community service for harboring the two fugitives. This trial is not about the fact that my client harbored fugitives. This trial is about the fact that my client is being discriminated against the sellers in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. They refuse him his right to purchase a storefront based on his relations. I am sure that we all can agree that Miss Granger,” Draco says, his eyes finding hers, “did not fight in a war for the same ideology and prejudice to affect all citizens.”

She ignores the flip in her stomach at the eye contact, ignores the way her heart is buzzing as she listens. To the untrained eye, it does not seem like Draco Malfoy is nervous, but Hermione sees the way he takes a small gasp of air. His chest expands before he exhales, expelling his nerves.

“My client deserves the right to start a fresh path for his family, and that is why I ask you appeal the ban in these shopping districts that automatically bar potential owners from purchasing a business based solely on a minimal and mostly harmless criminal history. Like all things, let the sellers decide on their own using a case-by-case basis if a potential shop owner should set up in the shopping districts. And of course, allow the potential shop owner to file an appeal to that denial with the Ministry’s Small Business Operations Office like anyone else in Wizarding Britain if they find something unfair about their treatment. Thank you for your time.”

There’s something about lighting, as if this moment is the stunned silence following a climaxing coda in a movie. The stillness in the courtroom swallows everyone whole as the light from the window captures Draco Malfoy in angelic rapture. A stream of sunlight catches his fair blond hair and illuminates the faint red of his face, his passion swimming to the surface of his skin. In all the quiet that exists, the court knows Malfoy has just won his case.

The judge bangs his gavel, and the moment spits them back out into reality. But like movie characters and motor collisions, Hermione cannot change this course of action. In the preceding seconds, she falls for Draco Malfoy. Her heart has no brakes to stop and now she is clawing her way out of her own car crash. 

Her heart stutters when she sees him out of the corner of her eye, and it is then _she knows_.

Hermione has fallen for Malfoy. She has fallen for his sharp lines and angles that directly cut into biased assumptions. She has fallen for his heart that beats proudly on his sleeve. Hermione has fallen for the man she sees in front of her, and he’s grown up from the boy she used to despise. Hermione Granger has fallen so deep and so fast she feels woozy from the realization, her head spinning now she wants nothing more than to kiss Malfoy with dozens of witnesses.

She is only a causality to her own feelings. Somewhere she hopes she has coverage for unexpected crushes on complicated people.

When the judge instructs the jury to decide the fate of the ban, Malfoy saunters to her table and smirks. His entire essence vibrates with success and happiness that Hermione swears it sears her spirit too. “Buy me a coffee, Granger. You know I’ve won.”

Her brows wrinkle in confusion as she stands, her knees a little shaky at being so close to her newfound feelings. Her mind clouds with joy that she wonders if it is like being concussed. “Coffee? Where can we get coffee around here?”

“A new café just opened. I’ve been going almost every day. Down the block. It’s a wizarding café called ‘Espresso Drip’.”

Her heart is screaming for the emergency room, insisting that it is more important to seek medical attention, but Malfoy has presented her with new things: rapid feelings that curl deep in the pit of her stomach and a new wizarding establishment. Curiosity wins out, and that is how Hermione finds herself almost shoulder to shoulder with Malfoy during the court recess. His cologne is refreshing, like cool water and fresh cut grass.

At the second note in his cologne, she swallows her saliva. Her tongue swells and thickens at the back of her throat. It reminds her far too much of school and brewing potions.

“Okay there, Granger? You’re breathing a bit heavy for a quick stroll.”

Hermione conceals her mortification with a breezy laugh. “Hay fever. Too much pollen. Global warming, you know.”

Malfoy engages her in polite small talk as they cross the street and enter the new café. It is busy, the line almost to the door. It smells divine, with dark and warm aromas, that almost make Hermione swoon. Beside her, her companion laughs.

“I didn’t realize you were such a coffee fan.”

She laughs too. “Just the smell. I really love the smell of coffee. I prefer chai. A chai latte, to be precise.”

“Huh. I would have taken you as an Americano person,” Malfoy says as they queue up together. “Thought you would have been too serious for something as frivolous as a sweet latte.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “There’s much you don’t know about me—” she tries to begin, but then she’s distracted by the community board they’re standing in front of labeled as “Misconnections”.

“Oh!” She exclaims. “This is cute!”

Malfoy hums in agreement. “Yes, I’m rather fond of reading the notes. They tend to be a bit romantic.”

Hermione snaps her neck to look at him. “You like romance?”

He smirks then and leans towards her, their noses almost touching. His eyes remind her of a stormy day out on sea. “Surprisingly, yes, Granger. I like romance. Is that a problem?”

She narrows her eyes before scoffing. “No, just—as you said, surprising. Who knew you’d be so sweet?” 

Pulling back, Draco shuffles closer to the counter, peering at her over his shoulder. “It’s fine. Not like anyone is bound to believe you.”

“That’s true,” she agrees, chuckling at the comment. “It goes against your reputation.”

“Yes, yes. Even after all these years, I’m still enemy number one.”

Hermione shrugs. “That gives you too much credit. If anyone saw you in court today, they’d see what I see: someone who’s changed.”

The noise of the coffee shop roars as Draco Malfoy turns around and looks at her with a peculiar eye. His expression is neutral, veering towards curiosity, and Hermione’s heart beats wild in her chest.

“What?”

He stares a moment longer and shakes his head, a genuine grin gracing his features. “You know what Granger; I’m buying the coffee.”

Hermione blinks and tilts her head to the side. “Oh, um. Thank you.”

Without knowing what to say, Hermione’s mind wanders again. She finds herself drawn to the board right next to them once more. Like most community boards, it leans towards haphazard and childish, but the earnest feelings flutter true when she finds a handful of notes describing other people.

_To the girl in the red hat: You looked lovely as you sipped your tea and ate your scone. I wanted to ask you about the book you were reading. Muggle literature is new for me, but I was too nervous. Maybe next time. -Man in blue tie_

_Dear Sir With Blond Hair and Freckles: You’re very handsome. I’d love to have your children. -Nervous_

_Woman in Green Dress: We went to school together. You looked great in green then, and I think you look even better now. I’m so happy that we talked today, and you let me buy you a coffee—2 creams, 2 lumps of BROWN sugar. I think you’ve changed a new leaf. -Red and Gold Make Me Bold_

Hermione pauses at the last note and re-reads twice more. Dawning realization strikes and she grins wide. She tugs on Malfoy’s sleeve so he can see too. She allows herself a moment of girlish glee, much to his surprise as he yelps as she drags him out of the queue.

“Look, look—Neville wrote this about Pansy! He literally is incapable of using that idiom correctly,” she gushes. “And a while back, he brought up how he had very confusing feelings for her when we were all growing up!”

Malfoy blinks at her. “What?”

“The note, Malfoy! To the Woman in Green Dress from Red and Gold? That’s Neville writing to Pansy! It’s supposed to be you turned a new leaf, you know, but Ron used to bother me on purpose and always said ‘changed’ and Nev unfortunately picked it up. Besides, that is his atrocious handwriting. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

Malfoy takes a step back to examine the board and the note. He studies it with the same intensity that she’s seen him use when presented with evidence in a case. Then, without a care in the world, he seizes the note and pockets it.

Hermione gasps. “You can’t—you can’t just take the note, Malfoy!”

He gives her a sidelong glance. “Why not? You said it’s for Pansy and I agree. She’s the only person I know who willingly takes their coffee with brown sugar. So, I’m going to give it to her.”

“Even if Neville is the one who wrote the note?”

Malfoy turns towards her and almost smirks, but his smile is far too bashful. “It’s more like—this is extremely flattering, this note thing. I know if I received a message on this board, I’d be intrigued as well. So, no matter who it is, they are using the right tactics, that’s for sure.” 

His words stick with her all the way until Sunday night as Hermione sits at home digesting her feelings. He’d be flattered, he’d said, which implies that he’d like a note. And if there is one thing that is universally true, it’s that Draco Malfoy always gets what he wants.

It’s crazy, she knows. Completely daft and bloody stupid of her, but Hermione Granger’s luck and logic meet in the middle and agree that writing Draco Malfoy a note is a good plan. However, in retrospect, that could be the wine making all the decisions.

She thinks long and hard on what to write as she sits at her magical typewriter. Her handwriting is far too recognizable to him. She considers Shakespeare or Keats, but finds both to be too romantic. Hermione almost quotes Poe, but that’s far too depressing. She almost writes something similar to a love song she heard on the radio, but her songwriting skills are sorely lacking.

She decides on a simple silly riddle her father used to tell her and is pleased with the result. Without a soul to watch her, she kisses the note for good luck and performs the spell so it appears on the community board at Espresso Drip. She hopes he finds it soon since it’s addressed directly to him.

Monday comes, but Malfoy says nothing about the note. Tuesday rolls in and still no news. On Wednesday, they brief for a case together in the law library in the Ministry, but he says nothing. Thursday they bump into each on the Ministry lifts, but are interrupted when people from Magical Game and Sports crowd it.

By Friday, Hermione has given up on him finding the note and wonders if someone stole it the way he took Pansy’s. She buries herself deeper in her books when there’s a knock on her office door. Without bothering to look up, she calls for them to enter.

A man clears his throat, but she waits to acknowledge him until she’s finished highlighting this paragraph about Cornish pixie rituals. Only then does she glance up, and it surprise her to find Draco in her office.

“Malfoy? What brings you to Chang’s and Associates?”

Today, he’s dressed casually in a light gray suit that matches his eyes. He wore his hair loose in a wavy manner. Hermione wants nothing more than to march right up to him and kiss him. Maybe on his mouth, maybe just all over his face.

He shrugs and claims a seat. “No reason. I was in the neighborhood.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, yes. Your law office is only a few doors down from here. Is this about the case for the Ministry?”

“Uh, no.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper. “This is a personal visit. If you promise not to laugh, I’ll show you.”

Hermione closes her book and sits up straight. “Of course. You’re not in any trouble, right?”

His brows furrow in confusion. “What? No, no. Just—a riddle I can’t solve and you’re—the smartest person I know.”

Hermione bites her lip to hide her smile, but she knows her attempt failed in every conceivable way. She preens under the compliment. “You have my attention, Malfoy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so smug, Granger. It’s unbecoming for one like yourself, but here.”

Their fingers touch when he hands her the paper, and her heart almost jumps out of her chest. There’s something familiar about the parchment too as she goes to unfold it, and then the world stills for a moment as she absorbs what’s written there.

Unfortunately, she breaks her promise and lets out a loud, surprised laugh.

“Granger!”

But she can’t help herself from laughing more when she reads the notes again, disbelief and irony coursing through her veins as Draco blushes a pretty pink color.

_To Draco Malfoy: How do you spell ‘cute boy’ with only two letters? -Riddle Me This_

“Okay, I’m done,” he says. He braces his hands on his knees to stand.

Hermione waves a hand at him. “No, no. Sorry. This caught me by surprise. It’s just—this is a very cute riddle. I thought you meant something else.”

He relaxes in his chair. “Well, like I said. This is a personal matter. But Merlin, I wonder who overheard us last week to write me something.”

Hermione wills herself to not blush. “I don’t know, but apparently they think you’re a cutie.”

Draco wrinkles his nose. “What?”

Hermione grins again, feeling the most pleased. “Cutie. Q-T. That’s the answer to the riddle. You’re a cutie, Malfoy.”

He looks at her for a moment before he doubles over, burying his face in his hands. She faintly makes out his mumbling of “I’m an idiot.”

“There, there, Malfoy. If it makes you feel better, this is a little low brow. I’m sure if it were more complicated, you would have gotten it.”

Sitting up again, she doesn’t comment on the fierce blush that paints him from his ears and creeps down his neck. He looks positively boyish and sweet. Who knew having a crush on Draco Malfoy could be so wholesome?

“Well, then. Thank you, Granger. For your expertise. I’m going to see myself out.”

As he reaches the door, Hermione only carries a slight giggle in her voice, feeling daring. “Be sure to write her back asking for a do-over!”

He pauses at her door and half turns towards her. “How are you sure it’s a woman?” His gaze is piercing.

But Hermione does not falter.

“Okay, be sure to write _him_ and ask for a do-over.”

He narrows his eyes. “Well, the note was there on Monday morning. So, stop by the coffee shop Monday before work. We can find out the new riddle together.”

Her eyes widen. “Together?” she almost squeaks.

He nods. “Yes. Together. I don’t plan on making a fool of myself for almost an entire week again.”

“Um, sure. That. Sounds like a plan. See you then, Malfoy.”

* * *

Thus her accident becomes more routine than happenstance. Her weeks divide into the segments of before Monday coffee and after Monday coffee; before riddle writing and after riddle solving. There is a noticeable pep in her step as Hermione approaches her days, Sundays, and Mondays now her favorite. Her favorite sounds are tied between the click of her typewriter as she writes her riddles and Malfoy’s laughter as he reads them.

_I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?_

(An echo)

His reward is to hear his voice echo as they battle it out in court.

_A girl has as many brothers as sisters, but each brother has only half as many brothers as sisters. How many brothers and sisters are there in the family?_

(A “Weasley” is not the correct answer, but four sisters and three brothers.)

A puff of smoke blooms, and children play merrily in the air.

_You are standing in front of two gates (a left one and a right one)—one leads to paradise and the other leads to hell. You don’t know which gate leads where. Beside the gates, there are two angels: one of them always tells the truth and the other always lies, but you also don’t know which one is which._

_You have one question to ask one of the angels, in order to find out which gate you should follow. What would that question be?_

(“If I asked the other angel which gate to choose, what would he say?”)

They spent far too long in the coffee shop for this one. Draco, yes because he said she can call him _Draco_ , insisted that there would be no proper way to determine who the real truthful angel would be by just asking what the other one would say. Were they both late for work? Yes. Did it matter? No.

Weeks of riddles and Hermione is happy.

_I can flutter and take your breath away. I can take a beating, but do not bruise. If I stopped, you would be sure to lose. All day and night, I am with you. What am I?_

“Do you know the answer, Draco?” she asks as she sips her chai. The draft from outside nips at through her thin sweater and she rubs her arms again.

Draco studies the note on the table. Today he’s wearing a dark gray suit. It compliments his dark black coat and his dark black shoes. Lately, she’s noticed his cuff links too: glossy onyx knotted in platinum and diamonds. His index finger presses against his lips harder the longer he thinks.

She wonders if he knows she’s been inspired somewhat, only somewhat, to be more presentable. Nothing too much, but she’s started wearing her hair back slightly, so it frames her face instead of wearing it heavy like a curtain. She wears the pearl earrings her mother bought her a few birthdays ago too. Hermione only wants to feel marginally beautiful. Enough to be herself, but perhaps a better version of herself all the same. No one said clever bookworms couldn’t mature into lovely butterflies.

After another minute of contemplation, Draco sits up fully in his seat. His tongue peeks out of his mouth slightly and licks his lips. She can hear his fingers rustle the fine material of his trousers. “Your heart,” he says with all seriousness.

Hermione does not breathe, her heart wild under her breastbone as she’s pinned by grey eyes she wants to know more than anything. At uttering the correct phrase, the paper folds itself into a paper heart she used to make when she was a child. On it, the ink reappears in the center with a simple: “keep me”.

The distraction causes Draco to break eye contact first. “Not yours as in _you_ , Granger. As you can see, I meant yours as in the answer. And look—” he says, plucking the paper keepsake, almost rambling, if Hermione could call it that. “This is new. I rarely get to keep these.”

Hermione exhales a breath she didn’t know she had caught on the precipice of both relieved and disappointed by his answer. “Well, yes. Your riddler seems to be rather creative and likes to try new things,” she says.

The café door opens wide and a huge gust rolls right in, tearing through Hermione without a care. Thankfully, the newest patron closes the door just as quick, muttering subtle apologies. Hermione perks up at the voice as she looks over her shoulder and smiles.

“Ron!” she shouts. “Over here!”

Ron sees her with ease and ends up pulling up an extra chair from a nearby table to sit with her and Draco. Draco schools his face back into a neutral expression, but is not hostile.

“Malfoy.”

“Weasley.” 

Wanting to prevent any chance for an altercation, Hermione turns towards her best friend. “Ronald, what are you doing here? On a Monday, no less?”

He shrugs and tries to snag her blueberry scone, but she smacks his hand away. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck instead. “Harry said you’re always here on Monday mornings, so I wanted to see what the big to-do about this coffee shop was.” His eyes glance towards Draco. “I didn’t realize you had a standing obligation. Thought you came in here and read books or something. Just wanted to spend some time with you before I headed over to the shop.”

Her nose wrinkles as she grins, she knows her cheeks have puffed so much her eyes have crinkled. “Oh, Ronald, that’s sweet. Maybe tomorrow you can come over for breakfast? Catch up properly, just us? Draco and I are about to head to work anyway, so I don’t think I have much more time.”

He nods and stands up. Looking down at her, his gaze lingers for a moment longer before he unwraps his scarf from around his neck. With no preamble, he wraps it around hers and presses a friendly kiss on her cheek. “It’s cold today, ‘Mione. By the way, you look nice.”

She beams at the compliment. “Thanks, Ronald.”

He says his goodbye and nods to Malfoy as well before he’s out the door. Hermione turns to find Draco staring intently where Ron walked through the door, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are far cooler than she’s used to seeing.

“Well, that was friendly.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Yes? Ron’s one of my best friends. Surely, you know this.”

“Didn’t you two used to date? And he just casually kisses you on the cheek?”

She shrugs. “Eh, it’s a habit he’s picked up from all the time he spends in France. He must have just gotten back, which is why he surprised me here.”

“Why on earth is Ron Weasley spending so much time in France? Simply to pick up the culture?”

Hermione laughs. “He’s not stupid, you know. But he and George opened a shop there recently. He manages the training for the new staff. Besides, his girlfriend is French. Fleur’s little sister, Gabby.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“My mom used to say people only say ‘interesting’ when they have nothing nice to say.”

Draco rolls his eyes and motions for them to leave.

Hermione follows him outside and attempts not to shiver. She casts a warming charm, but while it warms her, it does nothing to take the sting away from the wind. Something heavy lands on her shoulders. She notices the same cool and fresh scent of the cologne, but her fingers catch on the luxurious cashmere of Malfoy’s thick coat. 

“Thank you?”

Malfoy looks down the street towards their respective law offices. “Like Weasley said. It’s cold today, and only you’re daft enough to wear a measly sweater. Clever witch, yes, but street smart? Not so much.”

She chooses not to respond to his comment.

Normally, they chat more on their way back to their offices when they walk together, but today is silent. Hermione doesn’t know why and still doesn’t know why as they stand outside Chang’s and Associates. She anxiously fidgets with a button on the coat, trying to think of something to say when Draco begins for her.

“I don’t think I need your help with the riddles anymore.”

His tone is even, and he says it so matter-of-factly, so precisely, that her heart plummets straight to her feet.

She already knows the answer when she asks. “Oh, how come?”

He shrugs in a non-committal way. “They’re fun, but I don’t feel like engaging with that person anymore. I thought by now they would have more directly reached out. So, I won’t be needing your help with the riddles.”

It’s not that her heart cracks in two because it’s not broken in two pieces. It’s broken in hundreds of shards, cracking in places she didn’t think would fissure. She puts on a brave face and smiles weakly. “Ah, well—they’ve been fun. Solving the riddles with you.”

He clears his throat and tries to take a step closer. “Right, so—now that that’s out of the way—I’ve been—”

But Hermione doesn’t get to hear the rest of what Draco’s trying to say as Cho Chang rushes to her, panic clear across her face. “Oh thank Merlin, you’re here, Hermione,” she breathes. “We’ve got a doozy and I need your help.”

Hermione nods and glances at Draco but takes a step away from him. “No problem. I’ll be right there.”

He tries to come closer, but she takes another step away from him. “Sorry, Malfoy, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around?”

“But Granger—what I’m trying to say is—”

Cho tugs on her arm. “Hermione, come on, we’ve got to go!” she pleads. Turning her gaze towards Draco, she gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Malfoy. Urgent business. Bye!”

In a hasty goodbye that doesn’t leave her with many answers, Hermione no longer spends Monday mornings with Draco Malfoy going over riddles she writes him.

* * *

Falling for Draco Malfoy, Hermione decides, is less like a car crash and more like drowning. She’s consumed by her thoughts of him. From every tender smile to every witty quip, she drowns in feelings that can’t be returned. She swallows each happy memory until they choke her and force her to the bottom of the ocean.

She owls Draco his coat the same night he rejects her twofold. No longer wanting anything to do with her or with her riddler persona.

She also hasn’t stepped foot in the café for over two weeks now since that last day.

She sees him both too much and not enough, though. His presence haunts her days from her peripheral view. Draco Malfoy has been her opponent every few cases in the courtroom these last few weeks, but now they are working only via owl for correspondence. She’s spotted him coming to the law library as she’s been going too.

But there have been no owls from him, nor any invitations to coffee. She ignores that burn the most, the one that sits in her chest. She had thought that at least they were becoming friends. Her life reverts to her normal division. Nights out with her friends, working hard on court cases, and spending time with her family. Her favorite days are no longer Sundays or Mondays. Her favorite sounds are no longer the clicking on her typewriter or anyone’s laughter.

Hermione Granger functions on heartbreak with ease, thinking back on the harmless comment Draco said months ago that maybe she’s too much trouble to love. Maybe he’s right. She is too much trouble.

It is only four weeks after the last goodbye that Hermione finds herself at odds with Draco in a physical courtroom. He still has not written her, and bitterness has found a home in the sunken car crash in her heart.

The light still catches his hair handsomely, and in a moment of weakness, Hermione lets herself imagine what it feels like beneath her fingertips. Her fingers trace the edges of the papers in her case file, pretending for a moment it is his hair. She then shakes herself out of it because they’re more akin to being enemies than lovers, and it is better that way.

Safer that way.

Life makes more sense when she forgets about him and who he’s become. Life is easier to accept if she pretends he is still the nasty boy he used to be . When she quashes all the hope she has, peace rolls over her that weighs heavily on her shoulders like a coat she wishes she kept.

The judge bangs his gavel, excusing the court to recess. Like a scripted play, Draco walks towards her table, but he does not smirk. She does not look at him while she shuffles her papers into her briefcase.

“Let’s go get a coffee, Granger.”

“No, thank you. I have lunch waiting for me at the office.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

She finally looks up at him, and his eyes are steely. His lips purse together with such tension, as if pressing them so close together is the only barrier to keep angry words from getting out. A muscle in his jaw twitches at her silence.

She bites the inside of her cheek and mulls on it for a moment. She gives in with a sigh. “Fine.”

Like months ago, she finds herself almost shoulder to shoulder with Draco as they walk to Espresso Drip. Her heart swoons when she smells his cologne again, and she wants to bask in it for ages. She then scolds herself for another lapse in weakness. Neither of them speak as they cross the busy street or walk inside the café.

The same pleasing scent of coffee greets her like an old friend and she chances a glance at Draco, but his focus is just as rigid as it’s been all day. Like before, they queue together in line, but still silent. To the right of them is the community board, still haphazard and childish, but jammed with even more notes than she remembers seeing.

“There’s a few, I think, addressed to you.” His voice is even and controlled, as if it pained him to say each word.

His statement piques her curiosity. Without replying, she walks to the board and allows herself to scan the notes, anxious unease rooting itself in her stomach.

_To all my Monday mornings: How do you spell 'cute girl' with only two letters? -DLM_

(QT)

_To the Golden Girl: What is invisible and makes people suffer from symptoms like sweating and nausea, yet people can’t survive without it? -Yours, DLM_

(Love)

_To My Riddler: What is mine but only you can have? -Forever, DLM_

(My heart)

_To Hermione Granger: I miss you. Can I keep you this time? -Draco Malfoy_

(Yes. God, yes.)

This time, a warm shoulder presses against her and a low voice whispers in her ear. “Can I? Can I keep you this time, Granger?”

Hermione lets out a watery laugh. “You could ask me out on a date first at least.”

His breath against her ear causes her to shiver. “What do you think Mondays were? Just casual get-togethers?”

Hermione carefully takes each note off the board, unable to look at him. “Well, yes. I was supposed to help you solve riddles, remember?”

“Riddles that you wrote to me.”

“You knew?!” She snaps her attention towards him and they are almost nose to nose. She blushes at the proximity, but he only smiles.

“Yes, Granger. I knew. Come. I don’t think we can have coffee today.”

Draco holds out his hand and she peers down at it for a moment. He waits patiently for her to take his hand, and the contact is as joyous as solving any riddle. He laces their fingers together as he leads them outside the café before he apparates them away.

With a soft landing, Hermione realizes he’s taken them to his office, the room spacious with bright windows. He’s wearing navy again today, and Hermione does not chastise herself for thinking he looks handsome. He is handsome, and he is with her, all the signs pointing he wants what she wants too. 

(Each other)

His fingers give hers a tight squeeze before he lets go. Draco then turns her towards him and his hands find purchase on her hips. On instinct, Hermione places hers on his chest and finds the smooth crease of his lapels under her palms.

His pleasing voice breaks the stuttering silence. “Hi.”

She giggles and nervously tucks some loose hair behind her ear. “Hello.”

Draco affectionately traces patterns on her hips with the same tender affection she’s witnessed him use on plenty of the notes she’d given him. Her heart buoys in her throat.

“Took me a while to get you here. I thought you were ignoring me,” he admits.

“I…was…”

He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. Slight stubble caresses the place where he kissed. He stills there, takes a moment to rest his head near hers. She can feel the heat of his breath fanning against the column of her neck.

“Yes, but I didn’t realize you weren’t reading my notes.”

Hermione’s eyes drift shut as she enjoys the sensation of having Draco so close. She leans into his touch and lowers her head to rest her cheek against his chest. She relishes in his quick, but steady heartbeat as he pulls her closer. Maybe this is what it feels like to call someone home.

“How did you figure it out then?” she asks. Her question is tentative, lacking the usual confidence she’s always possessed when asking him about riddles. 

No answer has every been as important to know until now.

His laughter rumbles under her ear. “I went back to our regular time yesterday, and the barista told me you haven’t been in once since that day. None of the other coworkers saw you either.”

She follows the divided line between his white shirt and navy lapel. “Well, you told me you wanted no more riddles, and you didn’t want to have me help you with them anymore. I felt a little rejected.”

“I bet, but I was trying to ask you out! Then we got interrupted, and we both got busy with work assuming the worst about each other. I started writing to you though, hoping you’d see them on the ‘Misconnections’ board.”

The irony of the situation smacks her in the face. Their misconnection was just miscommunication and her only saboteur to her situation has been herself. 

Is this how Ronald always feels? Or Harry? 

“God, I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, Granger. But you can be my idiot.”

She swats him, but he only laughs harder.

Hermione wants to mourn all the lost time, but that is just wasting more time. She wants him now. Maybe forever. Instead, she wraps her arms around him too and squeezes him tight. She stands on her tiptoes to bury her face into his neck. “I really like you. Like really, really fancy you.”

She feels his throat bob as his arms tighten around her. “I have feelings for you too…Hermione. That’s what I was trying to tell you that day.”

And like car accidents, happenstance, and all things chance, Hermione pulls back and discovers the most adorable image of Draco Malfoy blushing once more. Her luck and logic agree that this is the time to do what she’s been dying to happen for months, to enjoy this moment because it belongs to her.

So, she kisses him. 

It catches him by surprise as he gasps under her mouth, and he stumbles backwards. His lips are just as soft as she imagined, but much warmer. He kisses her back with gentleness, a flurry of smattering pecks that is far more innocent that she would have assumed from someone like him.

His tongue traces the outline of her parted lips and the sensation causes her toes to curl, all the happiness in her stomach flutters. She sighs against his mouth as his fingers find their way to the back of her neck and card through her hair. She melts more into him and smiles into his kisses.

He smiles back as she cups his cheek and rubs her thumb on the delicate skin under his eye. Content and at ease, he sighs and Hermione marvels at what a relaxed Draco Malfoy is like under her hands.

When he opens his eyes, quicksilver greets her. “We should get back. Court should be in session soon.”

Hermione nods, but gives him one more quick kiss to his mouth. And one more because she can. “Yes, I have a case to win.”

Draco chuckles, and it is her favorite sound in the world. “I’m sorry, love. You’re completely mistaken. I haven’t even given you my best arguments yet.”

She rolls her eyes and straightens his jacket, her palms wanting nothing more than to explore the smooth plane of his naked chest. “Yes, yes, dear. Keep telling yourself that.”

Draco snags her fingers and gives them a kiss. “Just because I fancy you doesn’t mean I’m going to go on easy on you in the courtroom.”

Hermione’s heart is full in her chest. “Of course not, Draco. During the day, we’re enemies. But at night—”

“Well, I hope its lovers.”

Hermione smiles and allows herself to freefall without a care.

“Yes, at night, we can be lovers. If you promise to take me to the café in the morning.”

(Draco keeps his promise for all their mornings.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to @gigiree123, @amebb42, and @kifiyathewriter for being my alphabets on this one! You're all the best! 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for reading my first dramione fanfic. I had a lot of fun. Thanks @MykEsprit for hosting a wonderful event. I can't wait to do the next one. 
> 
> I have a WIP I'm working on that I plan to start releasing sometime next year :D 
> 
> Thank you as well for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks as well! All comments are welcomed so if you enjoyed it, please feel free to let me know :) even generic ones because let's be real, I leave those too!


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